n sat
in the stern and coached him. Tom poured out his thanks for his new
tutor's instructions, which were given so judiciously that he was
conscious of improving at every stroke.

He disappeared, however, while Tom was wrangling with the manager as to
the amount of damage done to the tub, and when Tom, to his joy, saw him
come into hall to dinner he took no notice of Tom's looks of
recognition. He learned from his neighbour that his name was Hardy, that
he was one of the servitors, a clever fellow, but a very queer one. Tom
resolved to waylay him as soon as hall was over; but Hardy avoided him.

_II.--Summer Term_

Jervis, the captain of the St. Ambrose Boat Club; Miller, the cox; and
Smith, commonly known as Diogenes Smith--from a habit he had of using
his hip-bath as an armchair--were determined to make a success of the
boat, and Tom had the good fortune to get a place in the college
eight--an achievement which is always a feather in the cap of a
freshman.

When the summer term came Miller at once took the crew in hand.

Then came the first night of the races, and at half-past three Tom was
restless and distracted, knowing that two hours and a half had got to
pass before it was time to start for the boats.

However, at last the time slipped away, and the captain and Miller
mustered their crew at the college gates, and walked off to the river.
Half the undergraduates of Oxford streamed along with them. No time was
lost on arrival at the barge in the dressing-room, and in two minutes
the St. Ambrose eight were all standing, in flannel trousers, silk
jerseys, and jackets, at the landing-place.

Then the boat swung steadily down past the mouth of the Cherwell, and
through the Gut to the starting-place. Hark! The first gun!

All the boats have turned, crowds of men on the bank are agitated with
the coming excitement.

Jervis, quiet and full of confidence, looks round from his seat--he is
stroking--takes a sliced lemon from his pocket, puts a small piece into
his mouth, and passes it on.

"Jackets off," says Miller. And the jackets are thrown on shore, and
gathered up by the boatman.

"Eight seconds more only!" Miller calls out. "Look out for the flash!
Remember, all eyes in the boat!"

There it comes at last, the flash of the starting gun. The boat breaks
away with a bound and a dash. The oars flash in the water, and the boat
leaps forward.

For the first ten strokes Tom was in too great fear of makin